


That Feeling You Get When the Day Just Won't End Already

by SLCKat



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLCKat/pseuds/SLCKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah just wants to go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Feeling You Get When the Day Just Won't End Already

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cridecoeur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cridecoeur/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cupid's Chokehold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/282602) by [cridecoeur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cridecoeur/pseuds/cridecoeur). 



> For the record, this is NOT how I expected my first foray into the Sherlock fandom to go...
> 
> I blame cridecoeur for this entirely. E N T I R E L Y. 
> 
> I'm sorry, fandom. It's really not my fault.

It is so close to time to go back to her flat for a cold pint and a steaming bubblebath that she can almost taste the bitter hoops and feel the hair at the nape of her neck curling in the steam when a walking STI oozes into the examining room and honest-to-good tries to pick her up.

 

As far as saddest things in the world go, this rates somewhere between the Holocaust and the death of Princess Diana on Sarah Sawyer's sad shit-o-meter. Which is really saying something.

 

As the woman (though, despite the abundance of cleavage, Sarah isn't half convinced she hasn't found a really passable drag queen in her clinic) continues to ramble about her loins-- _Jesus Christ on a biscuit, do people actually say_ loins _?--_ Sarah's eyebrows creep so far up her forehead that she's not completely sure she isn't hanging suspended from the ceiling by them at the end of it.

 

"… I think first we should run an STI panel to be certain that--" Sarah starts, attempting professionalism in the face of such naked-- _Gods above, she did NOT just think that_ \--desperation, but is cut off by the woman (still not sure, there) turning an interesting shade of puce and screaming obscenities at her.

 

The pint and the bubble bath are looking better and better. Maybe even two pints, if this red-wrapped harlot doesn't get out of her clinic soon (and possibly with the help of the one ancient security guard they employ to keep people from filching the prescription pads).

 

She's loathe to touch the insane woman--person--but somehow she and an orderly manhandle her out of the clinic, leaving Sarah to disinfect her entire body (she's tempted to pour some bleach into her brain just to clear it out) and figure out just how the hell to air out the cubicle so it doesn't smell like hot-floral-cat-in-heat for the rest of its existence.

 

Of all the days for John to be off traipsing about London with his flatmate. Honestly. Sarah's pretty sure that, somewhere in between the two pints and the bubblebath, she just might strangle him for saddling him with the daily dose of clinic crazy. Maybe even the flatmate for good measure.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this has gotten as many hits as it has. Wow!


End file.
